Pending
by MaladyOfReverie
Summary: When the weeping angel transports Amy to the past, it takes her to a year before Rory is to appear; River sends a messenger out to meet her.


Amy was many things, but she was not delusional. Even as she stepped away from her lifelong best friend, and the man she once thought she couldn't live without, she knew that what she was doing was a long shot. For all she knew, she could open her eyes to find herself in one of the pyramids of Ancient Egypt or baths of Ancient Rome. As long as there was a chance, though - as long as there was a single chance in a billion that she'd be reunited with Rory - it was worth the risk. Rory would always be worth the risk.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but what she felt when the angel touched her certainly wasn't it. One day, she'd compare it to the feeling of encountering a physical description of a character halfway through a novel - you know you must have had a mental image of them in your head before, but somehow you can't remember what it was anymore, you just know that this description isn't it. That was exactly what it was like. The closest sensation she could liken it to was when you're almost asleep and suddenly you're falling, and then you open your eyes and realise you're still in your bed.

Except this time, she wasn't. She opened her eyes slowly, her pulse rushing and ringing in her ears. She immediately breathed a sigh of immense relief. From the dark alleyway in which she stood, she could see early skyscrapers reaching ambitiously into the clouds. Yes, this was Manhattan, she was sure of it. Well, then, if the Angel had transported her and Rory to the same place, surely he was around here somewhere. She abandoned the alleyway, and began to push through hordes of people in trench coats and trilbies and little leather pumps that clicked against the pavement. She knew she must stick out like a sore thumb, her flaming Scottish hair and 21st century outfit making her appear more foreign there than half the aliens she'd met during her travels with the Doctor. She viciously swiped her tears away from her bloodshot eyes as she walked, adding to her alien appearance by streaking her mascara over her cheeks. Later, she'd mourn the loss of the Doctor again, but as of right now, the only thought on her mind was Rory.

Taking advantage of her height, she stood on the tops of her toes, placed her hands on either side of her mouth and shouted Rory's name. Heads turned towards her, and the throng of people walking past her temporarily became a brook of muttering gossip. There was no reply. None of the faces turned towards were her husband's. That stupid idiot, I can't leave him alone for two minutes, she thought to herself. How hard was it for him to just wait? He'd waited for her before, after all. Why hadn't he waited now?

"Amelia Pond?"

Amy spun around to face the source of the voice. It came from a tall, angular man with a sallow, shadowy face, almost entirely concealed by a hat pulled down low over his forehead.

"Yes?" she asked, wondering how he knew her name. She was certain she'd never seen him before in her life, and she was hardly a local here.

"So it is you. I thought so. Your daughter said you'd most likely be shouting."

Amy didn't have time to be offended by that - she was too intrigued. "Sorry, who are you?"

"I'm here to deliver a letter," was the only reply he made. He reached into his thick grey coat and produced a small beige envelope, which he passed to Amy. She took it with faintly shaking hands, and glanced down at it. She knew that handwriting. Rory. She lifted her head to ask the mysterious man how he'd come by it, but he'd already disappeared into the crowd. She leaned against the wall of a large bank, slid the end of a dark damson nail under the sealed flap and ripped it open, then pulled out the letter and began to read.

_Dear Amy,_

_By the time you get this letter, you'll be in Manhattan. I just wanted to say thank you. I know how much the Doctor meant to you. I mean, he was my friend too, but he was special to you. I know you're probably thinking I'm an idiot right now. Can you believe I stopped to look at my own name on a gravestone after nearly dying twice? It's not as if I'm very good at not dying. Anyway, thanks for coming after me. Not that I didn't know you wouldn't. I'm waffling, aren't I? Sorry. Right. Okay._

_The timeline isn't quite right. I'm here, but not yet. The Angel sent us back to the same place, but a year apart. I've seen River, and sent money back with her. She's bought us a house. I've put the address on another bit of paper. It has a couple of things from home in it, and some new things. I've sent money back, too, which should keep you going, but River says she's going to check back often, or send Mark - that's the bloke who delivered this - so if you need any more, let her or him know and they'll get me to send some back._

_I'm sorry, Amy. I can't wait to see you. Actually, you're with me now, but you know what I mean. I love you. So, so much._

_All my love,_

_Rory xxx_

Amy didn't have the energy to read the address. She was completely and utterly overwhelmed. She was going to be with him again, but not for a year. A year alone in a strange place. She slumped against the wall, and the tears came again. She didn't bother to wipe them away this time. She just pressed the letter to her chest, drew her knees up and cried. She cried because she'd hurt her Raggedy Man, and because she'd never see him again. She cried because she'd left behind the world she knew. She cried because of Rory. Oh, Rory. Wonderful, stupid Rory. She wasn't sure how long she cried for, or what the passers-by thought of her, but she didn't care. She just wished that she was more like him; because for all her vivacity and exuberance, he was the strong one. He'd waited two thousand years for her. She dreaded the thought of one.

Somehow, she eventually found her way to the apartment that was her new home. Somehow, she eventually settled in. The days went by monotonously. She visited libraries, and taught herself about the world she now lived in (and about the world back in Scotland, so that she had a better answer than 'um, not bad' when people asked what it was like where she came from). She befriended neighbours and people she met during her library visits. Most of the time, though, she wrote. She wrote about growing up in Scotland and moving to England. She wrote about her Raggedy Man who answered her prayers and fell from the stars. She wrote about planets near and far; about the past and the future; pirates and princesses.

Most of all, though, she wrote about the mousy little boy who followed her around at school for weeks before finding the courage to speak to her. She wrote about the teachers' pet who'd cautiously touch her arm and whisper to be quiet, the teacher was talking. She wrote about the lanky teenage boy who'd sit on her bed and make notes while she languidly read aloud from a textbook. She wrote about the day she kissed him. The day he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him too. The hours they spent together, alone and with friends. The day he asked her to marry him. The day she ran away. The day she came home. She wrote about their days and their nights and the early mornings when she'd catch him gazing at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and then quickly close his eyes and pretend he was still asleep, for which she'd hit him with a pillow. She wrote about the way he held her hand and made her tea and spread golden marmalade onto her toast. She wrote about the choice she'd made, and the choice she'd make again and again, no matter how many times she was forced to choose, because she loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone or anything else in the world, and ever would.

She wrote about Rory, until one day, there was a ring at the doorbell. She set down her pen and walked over to it. "If that's those bloody kids again, I swear I'm going to-"

She was forcibly cut off as she pulled open the door by the air suddenly leaving her lungs. It was all she could to do stare, eyes wide, lips parted.

"Amy? Are you alright?"

As soon as she heard her name in that deliciously familiar voice for the first time in what felt like forever, the air returned, and she all but threw herself over the doormat, flinging her arms around Rory's neck. His arms were immediately around her, too, holding her just as she needed to be held, as he always managed to do. They remained there for what could have been ten years or ten seconds - time seemed to disappear completely. When she at last drew back to look at him, her face was streaked with black and red from tear-stained make-up trails.

"Are you alright?" Rory asked again.

"Of course I'm alright," she replied, playfully pushing his chest. "I just really missed your stupid face."

* * *

Written based on a prompt by elevenscrazylegs on tumblr.


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